Au DH. Harry is captured after setting off on his own to find the remaining Horcruxes, and is kept alive for Voldemort's own nefarious games. Draco Malfoy is assigned to look after him, and does so to protect his own self interest. Or does he?

Ah! So this is it, kids. It's been a long, crazy ride, but we've made it. Thanks so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed our little story, added it to favorites, alerts, etc. But especially thanks to the people who took the time to review on a consistent basis. That means so much that I can't even express it. Thank you thank you thank you.

Now, the epilogue. It's a little different than the other chapters, but I trust in our readers' intelligence, so that won't be a problem. So, here it is, and enjoy!

Epilogue:

*

Harry,

Yes, I quite understand why you would feel that way. However, expect me to persist in my efforts for some time to come. The Ministry has long been ruled by corruption and hearsay, and more recently, has been nothing more than Voldemort's puppet regime. And while I understand your desire to live an ordinary life for awhile, the fact remains that you've done the extraordinary, and deserve recognition for doing so. The offer still stands, and will remain standing.

I, and all of Wizarding society, remain in your debt, Harry. Enjoy your much deserved rest.

Respectfully Yours,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister of Magic

*

Potter,

Why you persist in writing these letters is beyond me. As if laboring over your atrocious penmanship for six years wasn't punishment enough for all my sins, real and imagined, I now appear to be atoning for some distant past life as well. A simple "thank you" would have sufficed, Potter, and would even have been appreciated.

But since you insist, and as I have been lacking in dunderheads to chastise lately…

No, I do not wish to discuss Lily Potter with you, ever. Consider that subject closed. Yes, it was my Patronus that led your clueless friends to the Sword of Gryffindor, as well as my letter to Miss Granger which informed her of your whereabouts and hinted at Draco's predicament. I would have thought that was quite apparent.

I am not your friend, your mentor, or anyone of significance to you, Potter. Your imagined debt to me is just that: imagined. My actions have been of my own free will, and though they aided you, that was merely happenstance in sharing a common goal. You owe me nothing.

If Draco wishes to write me, nothing is preventing him from doing so. As you can personally attest to.

I have no desire to visit the werewolf. I can't believe you asked me that. Are you suffering from spell damage, by any chance, Potter?

You can visit me if you wish, though I'm baffled as to why you'd want to. However, don't expect the celebrity welcome I'm sure you're used to receiving. Until next time, then.

Severus Snape

*

Harry,

What do you mean by "I don't know."? N.E.W.T. scores don't just grow on trees, Harry! What would you do in the meantime, if you don't go back to Hogwarts?????

Anyway, things here are about the same. Mum and Dad are starting to remember me again, and it's not pretty. They can remember enough at this point to know that I'm the cause of their current state, and they're quite upset. I understand why they're upset, of course, but it doesn't make it any easier. They'd always said how excited they were to have a witch in the family, but now they're saying that I must think I'm better than them because I can do magic. That is simply NOT TRUE. Oh, I'm tearing up just writing this, it's all so upsetting.

I'm very glad Ron is with me, of course. In the little spare time I have, Ron and I enjoy exploring the Wizarding cities here in Australia. They are very similar to ours, but different, more laid back. I've bought several books on Wizarding history, along with some fascinating books on Aboriginal magic. I would have sent you a couple with this letter, but I didn't want to tax the poor owl any more than necessary. You're welcome to read them when I return, if you're interested.

How is Draco's arm? I feel so horrible about it, particularly since I'm the main reason he's having such trouble with it. He won't tell me a thing about it, of course, he just insists it's fine, but I don't believe him. So, how is it, really?

That's very good of you to write Professor Snape, Harry. I think he's had a very sad life, and I'm glad you've moved past your old grudges. Is he still planning to teach at Hogwarts, do you know?

Well, I must be going. Ron insists on taking a trip to the beach today (as if he didn't have enough freckles…but don't ever tell him I said that!) and then he has his heart set on going to a Muggle zoo. I told him I'd rather not see those poor animals forced to live as slaves for our enjoyment, but I ended up giving in as usual.

Take care of yourself, Harry, and send Draco my love! We all must do something fun when Ron and I get back…hopefully with my parents in tow.

Love Always,

Hermione

*

Draco felt Harry's hand tighten in his, and he fought the sudden urge to pull away. It wasn't as though he didn't want Harry there with him, just the opposite, in fact, but a recent observation of Draco's made it harder to accept.

Draco closed his eyes, the frigid January wind numbing his face. When he opened his eyes again, the same letters were still etched into marble:

Lucius Malfoy

1955-1997

Harry was biting his lip when Draco glanced at him, and Draco gave him a smile meant to be reassuring. Harry smiled back tentatively, his eyes questioning.

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said hoarsely, after a moment. "I told you you didn't have to do this, but…thank you."

Harry nodded resolutely. "He died saving us, Draco. The Minister had no right to deny him a memorial with the others." Harry scowled slightly, as if remembering that particular argument. Draco couldn't help but think that Shacklebolt had had every right to deny Harry's request - Lucius had been a Death Eater, and unapologetic until the last possible moment. He hadn't given his life out of remorse, morality, or concordance with the Light. He'd given it for Draco.

"So you used your vast influence to get what you wanted, right, Potter?" Draco had meant for his tone to be light, but found his teeth grinding in spite of himself.

Harry pulled his hand away, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. Draco felt a sudden stab of remorse - he'd been absolutely horrible to Harry for the past couple of weeks, ever since his trial, really, and Harry had done nothing whatsoever to deserve it. In fact, that was just the problem. Harry deserved so much better than him, when all was said and done.

Draco shivered as well, swallowing the massive lump in his throat. Crouching on his knees, he gently traced the words on his father's marker with a finger.

"Draco?" Harry said softly, crouching next to him. "Look, have I done something wrong? I just feel like whatever I do lately, you hate me for it. Yeah, I did use my influence, as you put it, to do this. Just like I used it to keep you and your mother out of Azkaban. And you know what? I'd do it again, Draco. Even if you tell me tomorrow that you never want to see me again, I'd keep doing it for you."

Draco closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold stone. I don't hate you, Harry. He deliberately didn't look at Harry."Have you ever considered, just maybe, that I don't want you to do that?"

"Why not?"

"Maybe I want to stand on my own for a change. Is that so unbelievable?" He snorted. "You've seen the way people look at us when we're out in public, I know you have."

Harry was quiet for a moment, then said emphatically, "Well, maybe I don't give a fuck."

Draco turned to face him. "Yeah, well, you don't have to, Harry. You're the fucking hero, after all. You could ride a hippogriff through Diagon Alley, stark naked while singing Celestina Warbeck, and people would just call you eccentric."

Harry blinked, then flushed angrily. "Oh, so I'm doing all this out of charity or something, is that what you're saying? Everything we've been through…you think that means nothing to me?"

"I think that you think it means something," Draco said slowly, looking down and fighting an urge to cry. "We shared a common goal for awhile, but really, what do we have in common beyond that?"

"So…what, then, Draco?" Harry asked sharply, standing to his feet. "What the hell do you want me to do? Should I have just left things alone at your trial, let you go to Azkaban? Do you want me to go to Shacklebolt and tell him, 'hey, it was nice and all, but please disregard everything I've ever said regarding Draco Malfoy. He wants to fight his own battles now, and if those battles lead him to Azkaban, so be it.' Is that what you want?"

"No," Draco said quietly. He shivered again, feeling as though he might be sick.

"Then, what? God, I am sick of this shit! I've tried being patient, which goes completely against my nature, I'll have you know. I've been as understanding as I can be…I have fucking needs too, you know! Ron and Hermione have each other…I thought I had you, the one person in the whole fucking world who might really understand me. I never give more than I'm willing to give, Draco. And if you don't understand that, then fuck you."

Draco closed his eyes again, his breathing hitching.

"Draco?" Harry asked after a moment, crouching beside Draco again. His face was achingly vulnerable, his eyes large and luminous. Draco wanted to kiss him. "Just tell me what you want, okay? Maybe I haven't been as attentive lately…okay, I'm sure I haven't. I've just been stressed…everyone wants something from me, you know? I want to tell all of them to fuck off, but you deserve more than that. So, please, just tell me what you want, and I'll try to give it to you."

Draco found the strength to look Harry in the eyes and tell him he wanted nothing.

Harry drew back as if he'd been slapped. He stood abruptly to his feet and closed his eyes, then nodded after a long moment. "Okay. Fine. Thank you for being honest." He bit his lip, an old and familiar gesture, looking as though he might say something else. Instead, he Disapparated with a loud and resounding crack.

Alone, Draco finally let himself cry, curling against his father's memorial headstone and shuddering with sobs. He hurt so fucking bad, as though a Bludger had shattered his chest. He wanted Harry, but was tired of taking and taking while offering nothing in return.

Draco supposed he must have fallen asleep, because he found himself opening his eyes in the dark, his left arm throbbing as it often did at night. Draco gritted his teeth, flexing his fingers in a futile effort to stave off the inevitable tremors. Clutching his arm to his chest, he leaned against the headstone. He was beyond cold, and after a moment pulled himself upright. He needed to go home to Harry, even if Harry never wanted to see him again.

Draco started slightly upon Apparating to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, as he hadn't been expecting to run into Harry so quickly. Draco swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Harry appeared quite calm, all things considered, even smiling at Draco after a moment.

"I'm glad you're back. I was starting to get worried."

Draco swallowed, looking at the floor. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I…I'll just get my things, then. My mother will be more than happy to let me stay with her."

Unexpectedly, Harry pulled him into a hug, not letting go even when Draco tried to pull away.

"You're lucky I love you. Because you're absolutely ridiculous, and certifiably mental to top it off."

It felt good to hold onto Harry, even as he knew he shouldn't. He closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace, reveling in it like a lizard basking in the sun.

"Come on," Harry said, several minutes later. "We haven't had a chance to try out those Nimbus 2001s yet, and tonight looks like the perfect night."

"It's freezing."

Harry snorted. "So?"

So that was how Draco ended up, forty minutes later, swerving and dipping over Muggle London. Beside him, Harry whooped and laughed as he performed his own stunts, obviously not concerned in the least about the prospect of being spotted.

Draco smiled in spite of himself. Somehow, despite the cold wind biting at his face and the burgeoning pain of his arm, he felt strangely liberated. And Harry seemed happy…maybe he just needed to trust that.

Harry exclaimed out loud when they returned home, gripping Draco's wrist before he'd had the chance to pull away. "Draco! Why didn't you tell me your arm was so bad tonight?"

Draco scowled, all the feelings of peace and freedom that he'd experienced during their flight dissipating. He wanted to pull away, but Harry's grip on his wrist, his very proximity, felt too good.

"I'm tired of this," he said finally, wrenching his wrist out of Harry's grasp. "All I do is take from you, Harry. Can't you see that?"

Harry scowled in return. "Is that what all this has been about, Draco?" He snorted. "I figured it was something ridiculous like that."

"No you're not. I'll even have Kreacher ward the house off so you can't leave."

"You can't keep me here if I don't want to be here, Potter!"

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Draco. Shut up."

Draco sneered. "No."

Harry, incredibly, rolled his eyes. "Okay, then tell me what you meant. How exactly do you take from me?"

Draco felt his sneer, and the controlled anger it offered, slipping away as quickly as it had appeared. In its wake was only Draco, once again on the verge of tears.

"A lot of ways," he said brusquely, turning away from Harry. "You've done everything for me, Harry. You kept Mother and I out of Azkaban. You made sure Father had a memorial, and I know you did it for me, not for him. You've made it possible for me to see the best Healers for my arm, and I know they wouldn't have seen me otherwise."

He took a deep breath. "You've never mentioned how much it hurt you when you saw your parents in the graveyard, or any of the horrible things those Muggles that raised you must have put you through. And I know you're not just over those things, but you never bring them up because you're always taking care of me. And like you said earlier, you're stressed beyond belief as it is. And that isn't fair to you, Harry." He took another breath, feeling as though he would hyperventilate. "This witch I ran into in Diagon Alley the other day said I was taking you for all you've got, and, well, she's right."

He felt Harry grip his shoulders gently, turning him so that they faced each other. "I mean, come on. You helped me defeat Voldemort. You went through hell with me. You lost your father. And back at the Manor…I would have died without you, Draco. I don't doubt that for a minute. And for some reason you love me."

"It would be hard not to," Draco said shakily.

Harry leaned his forehead against Draco's, cupping his hand behind Draco's neck. "There are things I don't talk about, you're right. But it's not because I don't trust you, or because I feel I need to hold them in. It's because I want to move on, that's all. Nothing more." Draco felt Harry's lips graze against his forehead, and he leaned in closer to Harry, wrapping his arms around him.

"You still have nightmares," Draco said softly, brushing the hair away from Harry's scar.

"And you're always there. See, you don't just take, Draco. Here you are wanting to push me away for my own good, as you thought. You're unselfish to a fault." Harry sighed. "And sometimes I just want to smack you for being such a git, but that's how it is."

Draco kissed him, carefully. "Maybe you should, next time. Who knows, it might help get me in the mood."

Harry smirked. "Like you've ever had trouble with that."

They kissed again, and as Harry raised his knee to rub his thigh between Draco's legs, Draco decided he certainly agreed.

"Forgive me?" Draco managed to pant out, knowing that his window of coherent speech was drawing to a close.

"I'll think about it," Harry mumbled against his neck, a smile in his voice which was Draco's undoing.

*

"Can you believe we're finally done?" Hermione asked breathlessly, slumping onto the grass beside Harry and Draco, her books spilling around her. She pushed her hair back, looking extremely frazzled. "Oh, I just know I messed up on that Transfiguration essay! And Potions! Oh, it was no good."

Draco smirked, exchanging a knowing glance with Harry.

"This is horrible," Hermione continued to lament. "Now that I think about it, I really should have studied more. Much more. And to think I was so certain I would be accepted into that internship…it was just arrogance on my part, wasn't it? I don't know what I'll do now…"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, looking slightly annoyed. "I'm sure you did brilliantly. As usual. Now please, let the rest of us - as in me - mull over how terrible we actually were."

"Oh, Harry, don't say that!" Hermione said quickly, appearing to gain some control over herself. She smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure you were fine. Although, like I told you and Ron, a little extra studying never hurt anybody."

Draco smiled wryly and stretched his legs forward, leaning back on his palms and shivering with pleasure as the sun warmed his skin. Around them students were bustling excitedly, enjoying one last day with friends before departing on the Hogwarts Express.

"How about you, Draco?" Hermione asked after a moment. "How do you think you did?"

Draco shrugged, staring at the blue-green waters of the lake. "Definitely better than Weasley. Probably better than Harry. And hopefully better than you, Granger."

Hermione frowned, yet her lips twitched slightly. "I'm very proud of Ronald for working so hard to catch up this term…I really wish you'd be nicer to him, Draco."

"What would be the fun in that?" Draco drawled innocently. The truth was, he sort of liked Ron these days. It was just impossible to resist picking on him.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft humming of insects and the lake lapping at the shore. Draco picked absently at some grass blades, his fingers accidentally brushing with Harry's. He didn't move them.

Hermione jumped to her feet suddenly. "Shit! I can't believe I forgot! I'm supposed to meet Ron in Hogsmeade, I was just so stressed by the exams I forgot entirely!" She knelt down, picking up her haphazardly strewn books.

Draco shook his head, grinning wickedly. "The things those two must get up to when we're not around…they're probably not meeting in Hogsmeade at all. They're probably meeting at one of those novelty sex shops. Your Weasleys have products at their shop, you know. I'm sure they give family discounts."

"Draco. Ugh. I try not to think about it." Harry stretched out onto his back and closed his eyes, his hands clasped behind his head.

Draco stretched out beside him, ignoring every instinct that screamed how lying about in the grass was dirty and common. But he could not bring himself to lay his head in the grass as Harry was doing, so he settled for laying it on Harry's chest.

"Does your scar ever hurt anymore?" Draco asked quietly, after a moment. It was a question he'd been wanting to ask for some time, and wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't.

"Not since we killed Voldemort," Harry answered simply.

"Since you killed Voldemort, you mean."

"We," Harry said softly. "I couldn't have done it without you, Draco. I meant that."

"Were you serious about those Weasley products? I mean, Fred and George have told me before that I can get whatever I want for free…maybe we should check it out."

Draco snorted. "You're a dirty man, Harry Potter. But I like the way your mind works."

Harry just smiled. "I know."

The sun was sinking lower in the sky - in a matter of hours the moon would take its place. And the next day, they would leave Hogwarts forever to face an uncertain future. Perhaps there would be future Dark Lords to vanquish (Draco sincerely hoped not), or perhaps the sky would fall down on them all. But for now…the sun was still shining, Harry was smiling, and as far as he could see, all was well.

*

Murmuring drowsily, blinking against the near darkness of the room, Harry shifted to his side and reached a hand out. It took his fuzzy mind a few moments to realize it was sheets he gripped, and not a warm body, and another to realize Draco was sitting at the foot of their bed, hunched slightly, breathing shallowly.

"Draco?" Harry called in a soft voice. He pushed the blankets away from his chest.

Draco's pale hair swung back and forth as he shook his head, not turning around.

"I'm fine," he replied tightly, equally soft. "Go back to bed."

Ignoring him, Harry sat up and scooted closer, running a hand soothingly up and down Draco's bare back when he was close enough. Draco shivered slightly and leaned toward him.

"It's not that bad," he murmured, resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

Harry nodded, though he didn't believe him. Against Draco's chest, he could see how tensely he held his left arm, how his hand clenched. He also knew, rather than saw, how the damaged nerves within fired and misfired, sending conflicting signals to his brain, how the muscles contracted and squeezed, how it hurt.

"This is the first time this week, right?" Harry wrapped his arm around Draco's back. "It must be getting better, then."

Draco made no reply, nor could Harry see his face, but the sudden tensing, and then relaxing, of his muscles said plenty.

Draco snorted. "That's because you, unlike me, can't deal with shit on your own." As if to prove his point, he proceeded to lift his head and hunch further over, cradling his arm even more tightly against his chest.

With a slight roll of his eyes, Harry shifted forward as well.

"No," he said gently, replacing his arm around Draco, "it's because you, unlike me, are a stubborn git who hasn't realized you don't have to deal with all this shit on your own."

"Whatever, Harry," Draco muttered. Abruptly, he shuddered bodily, making a soft sound in the back of his throat. Harry's own stomach clenched and he wordlessly wrapped Draco in a full embrace, wishing he could absorb some of his lover's pain for his own.

"What can I do?" he asked quietly. Draco shook his head, leaning and quaking into Harry.

"It's alright," he whispered.

Sometimes Harry wanted to rage, he wanted to shout, to make it known how much he hated the injustice of it all. Why must either of them continue to suffer? After all they had gone through, ripped, torn, and bled both physically and emotionally, why must any of it continue?

They had a balance of sorts, Harry and Draco. Certain nights belonged to one, other nights belonged to the other. On Harry's nights, he would wake sweating, shouting, and crying, sometimes thinking his forehead was on fire, sometimes believing the Dark Lord was attacking his mind. Most often he awoke with a flash of killing green still in his eyes. Beside him, Draco would talk, he'd hold his hand, kiss him, get him aroused; whatever it took to bring Harry back to the present, to show him it had all been worth it, Draco would do.

And then there were Draco's nights.

Ironically, Hermione's inventive spell had caused far more damage than Voldemort's ever had. Hermione didn't know, though she often fixed both Harry and Draco with a suspicious glance whenever she inquired about his arm. Draco intended to keep it that way.

"It it weren't for Hermione and that goddamn spell, or curse, whatever the fuck it was, I never would've made it out of the Manor," Draco had told Harry. Neither of them had to spell out what such a fate would have meant.

More often than not, his arm was perfectly fine. Healers had been able to repair the majority of the damage, on both a magical and physical level, but the sheer longevity of the spell had posed more of a problem.

And so Draco had his own nights. Their roles reversed, Harry became the comforter, the distracter, the one willing to do anything to ease the other's pain.

"Let me see your arm, Draco," Harry said, brushing his fingers over Draco's wrist. After a moment of resistance, Draco reluctantly unfolded and stretched out his shaking limb across Harry's lap.

Harry began with feather-light touches, tracing his fingers in delicate patterns up and down Draco's forearm, telling his nerves there were other sensations to be had than pain. Next, he massaged his thumbs into the aching muscles, still very lightly, all the while watching Draco's face for signs of ease or distress. By the time Harry's fingers reached the base of the Dark Mark, Draco fluttered his eyes shut and let out a small breathy moan. Harry smiled slightly and continued to work.

Some ten, or maybe fifteen, minutes later, Draco's body had slackened with a mixture of relief and sleepiness. Flexing his slightly aching fingers, Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco gently. Within minutes after that, they were both asleep.

Neither of them slept very well. But they were happy.

*

Harry's back arched and a wanton moan escaped his lips as Draco took him in his mouth. Lifting his head for a moment, Draco grinned, then returned to his former activity and swirled his tongue delicately around the head of Harry's cock, reveling in the reactions he, and only he, could raise.

"Draco…" Harry panted, his fists tightening on the sheets. Draco took his cock further in his mouth and Harry's words dissolved into discernable sounds of pleasure.

The art of fucking, as Draco preferred to call it (love-making was simply too Gryffindor), was something both he and Harry had become quite adept at over the past few years. He supposed with no Dark Lords to vanquish their time should be spent doing something productive; and what better past-time than this? After all, Draco had decided, we do need our exercise. It had been less than a challenge to convince Harry.

Several minutes later, convinced Harry was more than ready to continue, Draco slid slowly up Harry's body, trailing languid kisses and nips along his hips, stomach, and nipples, finally ending at his lips. Their mouths met in a fierce clashing of tongues and teeth. Hot, panting breaths passed between them, reminding Draco of the rather generous helpings of wine they'd consumed with dinner, and he didn't mind. Harry ground his hips upwards and wrapped one leg around Draco's, causing Draco to moan against Harry as their equally engorged cocks rubbed together with a delicious mix of friction and heat.

"Fuck." Overcome with sensation, Draco rotated his hips and threw his head back with a gasp.

Harry, of course, was no longer the bashful and somewhat reserved lover of their initial youthful encounters, and responded by wrapping his other leg and flipping them bodily over, landing half on top of Draco, half tangled in the sheets. Draco grinned as he quickly kicked the cumbersome sheets completely off the bed. Harry grinned back.

A moment later, Draco arched slightly as Harry's mouth encircled him and began working slowly up and down. A hand trailed over his skin, first caressing Draco's balls, and then massaging lower. Draco pulled his knees toward his chest, giving Harry better access. He sucked in a breath as one, and then two, slick fingers worked gently in and out of him, accompanied by Harry's skilled mouth, and a short while later he was panting, flushed, and very ready to come.

"Ready?" Harry whispered, raising himself up and resting his hands on Draco's thighs.

Draco nearly groaned at the loss of intimate contact. "Hurry the fuck up, Potter," he growled, quite aware his threat, strained and filled with lust, was not quite as effective as it might have been otherwise. Luckily, as attuned to each other's bodies as they were, Harry needed no further confirmation.

The sensation of Harry entering him, of his throbbing cock sliding forward in one precise movement, or slowly, inch by burning inch, was enough to make Draco half-hard merely by thinking of it. The other way around as well, when Harry was beneath him, vulnerable, needing, and completely trusting. Draco loved these moments. If anything confirmed the validity of their feelings, it was this. Neither Harry nor Draco, and especially Draco, were completely vulnerable, needing, and trusting of anyone - anyone but each other.

Harry's mouth opened in a silent cry and a breathy moan escaped Draco's lips as Harry slid inside of him. He began to thrust leisurely, moving his hips back and forth with a smooth rhythm, angling himself just right after only a moment, eliciting a half-sob, half-cry from Draco. Squeezing his eyes shut, his chest heaving, Draco covered Harry's back with his legs and urged him onwards. He could feel the intoxicating combination of alcohol and endorphins running rampant through his brain now, and he knew that neither of them would last much longer.

Harry moved faster, the sounds of their flesh slapping rhythmically together the only noise in the room aside from their breathing and moans. His hands gripped Draco's thighs tightly, probably tightly enough to leave bruises, but Draco really didn't care. He especially didn't care when Harry reached down between them and began fisting Draco's cock in sync with increasingly forceful thrusts.

"Harry…" Draco cried out as he came a moment later, his muscles contracting spastically and clenching around Harry, his cock pulsing hotly and wetly into Harry's still moving hand. Harry made a noise deep in his throat and bucked wildly, riding out Draco's orgasm, and then allowing his own release shortly thereafter.

They both collapsed onto the bed, Harry still inside of him, Draco not minding in the least. Straining his neck upwards, he caught Harry's mouth with his own and kissed him drowsily, the fervent need of before abated. At least for the time being.

Harry rested his head beside Draco's and smiled.

Sated and perfectly content not to ever move again, they fell asleep in each other's embrace.

*

Boy-Who-Lived Birthday Bash

By Rita Skeeter

Tuesday evening, a rather inconsequential day unto this point, I was attending to some much needed shopping in Diagon Alley. A few headache potions, tea, a brand-new set of Quick Quotes Quills - an ordinary evening, if any. That is until I ran, quite coincidentally, into Harry Potter and a small but fawning group of his closest friends.

As you are no doubt aware, dear readers, the Boy-Who-Lived was somewhat of an attention seeker in his youth, always delighted to recount the brave, heroic tale of his latest adventure. Young Harry's seeming reluctance to interviews over the past few years, therefore, both baffled and bewildered his adoring public. But worry not, oh adoring fans, last night Mr. Potter was more than willing to share some fascinating, and highly personal details.

"Harry!" I called out, delighted to have accidentally run across his path. "Happy Birthday! What have you been up to lately? Slay any more dragons?"

Harry, clearly still in some state of shock from such a traumatic childhood event, carefully averted his eyes.

"Please," Hermione Granger, long-time friend and potential love-interest of Harry, pleaded. "Can't you see talking about those things is painful for him?"

Being the overly empathetic journalist I am, my own eyes brimmed with tears and I quickly changed the subject.

Among Harry's other companions were Fred, George, and Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and, of course, the enigmatic former Death-Eater, Draco Malfoy. (My readers should note, the rumors concerning the relationship between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are still unsubstantiated - though, in the wake of this interview, seem somewhat clearer)

"Draco," I greeted, gracing him with a dazzlingly white smile. "Are you and Harry romantically involved?"

Draco did not smile back, as he was obviously caught off-guard by my forthright inquiry. Instead, acting with the same rashness that, perhaps, once drove him to his father's, and You-Know-Who's side, he grabbed a surprised Harry and proceeded to thoroughly kiss him for several minutes. Embarrassed as I was to witness such an act of supreme intimacy, I forced myself to watch. Ah, the lengths one must go to bring forth the truth.

"Perhaps that answers your question," Draco said afterwards.

Apparently the group was tardy in their destination at that point, and so they began to move away, each waving a joyful farewell to yours truly.

I managed one final question before they were out of earshot.

"Harry, what are your plans for the night?" I called.

Draco, and not Harry, answered. "He's going to go home, get drunk, and fu - "

It was with unfortunate timing that a young child started to wail nearby, and the rest of Mr. Malfoy's comment was rather hard to make out. I, however, have quite delicate hearing, and I believe the continuation was something along the lines of:

" - fiesta with me all night long!"

Who knew that the Malfoy heir would have proficiency in Spanish?

Overcome with fond memories of my own youth, only a few years past, I conclude this article. And, hopefully, we will all hear more from Harry Potter very soon.

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